


Good Gnomens

by Weresnake



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Home Owners Association (only mentioned), M/M, Pining, i also cant believe i implied that jesus is going to college in this, what can i say? two boys in love, what have these hands done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weresnake/pseuds/Weresnake
Summary: Ever fuckin seen Gnomeo and Juliet? Yeah its that. No, I wont elaborate.++++So it goes like this.Our bastardized story begins with a backyard garden that looks as impeccable as an award-winning collection of neatly spread out and well cared for plants would look like. No stuffy member of the local Home Owners Association could resist the fierce red roses or vibrant orchids, among the other specimens that decorated the yard. However, it wasn’t just the garden that stood out. No, the little porcelain statuettes with wings and togas added an odd charm to the otherwise sparse yard. They varied in every way: faces, bodies, expressions and poses. Unbeknownst to her neighbors and the odd son that sometimes dropped by from college, she also has a parallel set of little creatures that looked fine as Halloween decorations but instead were actually abandoned and forgotten in the confined, dusty space of her garage. These too, had a charm of their own as their ugliness is rather endearing. If you asked which were her favorite, however, she would smile with eyes that rival the arctic in temperature and reply in a sweet deadpan voice:“None.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is me spitting in creations face with a monster of my own. I proooobably wont make another chapter unless people really enjoyed this.

So it goes like this. 

Our bastardized story begins with a backyard garden that looks as impeccable as an award-winning collection of neatly spread out and well cared for plants would look like. No stuffy member of the local Home Owners Association could resist the fierce red roses or vibrant orchids, among the other specimens that decorated the yard. However, it wasn’t just the garden that stood out. No, the little porcelain statuettes with wings and togas added an odd charm to the otherwise sparse yard. They varied in every way: faces, bodies, expressions and poses. Unbeknownst to her neighbors and the odd son that sometimes dropped by from college, she also has a parallel set of little creatures that looked fine as Halloween decorations but instead were actually abandoned and forgotten in the confined, dusty space of her garage. These too, had a charm of their own as their ugliness is rather endearing. If you asked which were her favorite, however, she would smile with eyes that rival the arctic in temperature and reply in a sweet deadpan voice:

“None.” 

As the day grew old and the sun tucked itself away into the horizon, the statuettes began to stir. Not the winged ones described earlier, they wouldn’t be awake until morning came again. Those similar, yet different enough statuettes in the garage began waking with the usual bicker, banter, and plotting. One such little porcelain figure already stood just outside the sliding metal door and adjusted the sunglasses he ripped off some poor doll.  
His features were sharp and he had black clothing that was apart of his body but make no mistake, the dark colors were painted on only to cover the large webs of cracks and fractures on his lanky body. He was lucky the first fall from the second floor didn’t shatter him, but some days he wish that luck just wasn’t present that fateful night.  
Watching an owl soar off into the forest beyond the fence bordering the back of the yard, he leans away from the garage door and saunters off to the rosemary bushes with a certain destination in mind. 

On another side of the expanse of grass and such vegetation, a small lamp flickers on. A rather round cherub looking man with comically small humming bird wings lets out a yawn and stretches. He flexes his shoulders and groans as his limbs pop and he winces at the cramp in his shoulder from sleeping wrong. With a sigh, he adjusts the bowtie just under his chin and checks his reflection to make sure he looks just right for this evening. For a split second, he hears a snapping of a twig and freezes out of habit. His heart hammers silently like a rabbits until a warm smile pulls at his lips. 

“Crowley.” He says, watching his friend slink out of the shadows. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you Angel. You can’t be too cautious these days.”

“Well yes I know that dear boy but it still scared me none the less. Did you know the neighbors complained about a fox digging up their yard the other night?”

“No, but I’m not worried of some yippy pest slinking about.” He paces around Aziraphale until he settles with staying just beside him. “My biggest concern is if my side, say, catch wind of me sneaking off out of this shithole for the night.” 

Aziraphale shakes his head, the bone white curls of his hair bouncing with the motion. “Not to mention what my side would do!”

He watches Crowley look away with a smirk. “I’d still argue its worth the risk though. If I hear Hastur and Ligur argue over weedkillers I might just shatter everyone in the garage myself.”

As the demon tips his head down, his sunglasses shift on the bridge of his nose and Aziraphale sees the glass beads he glued on himself for eyes. Sure, he’s bitched about them not working properly as it made the daytime even more unbearable with its brightness, but Aziraphale loved the allure, the warmth that permeated from those golden eyes that stared back.  
‘Dear me,’ Aziraphale mused. ‘I need to cut back on reading those romance novels from that house.’ He felt his cheeks grow warm. “Perhaps. So… Where to, for tonight? That new neighbor should have moved in by now.” 

Crowley pulls back and looks away with a noncommittal shrug. “I ‘unno. That sounds fine I guess. It’s not the one with the ugly ivy infestation is it?” 

“No, you’re thinking of Shadwells. This one is owned by a new lady named, uh.” His face scrunches up. “Anne. Or is it Annie?” He waves his hand, “something akin to that.” 

He leads the way while Crowley saunters close by. 

“Do you think-? Nah.” Crowley cuts his own inquiry short.  
“Think what?” His companion prods back.  
“I… Well, I know its dumb but-“ Crowley focuses more on floor now as he thinks outloud. “Do you think…. There’s a way to fix this mess?”  
The conversation wilts as they keep trudging by some lovely little snap dragons. One panicking if the question he asked was the wrong way of putting it and the other deciphering what could he possibly mean.  
“I’m sorry. What mess?” 

Crowley gestures his hands in the hair, “just. This whole mess in general. The rift between our respective sides making it harder to meet, the fact that those mildew brained idiots keep thinking that somehow they’re going to start some ‘war for the lawn’, all of it.”  
A heavy silence follows as Aziraphale can't give Crowley any good answer. 

They reach the fence and after pushing aside the warped wood at the bottom he gives a polite ‘after you.’ The new neighbors yard doesn’t look impressive in the slightest but who could blame her as she did just move in today. Anathema wasn’t responsible for the yards horrible state and unchecked bug infestations but from what glimpses Aziraphale caught of her from watching on his side, he had full confidence that the witchy woman had some interesting new plans for her own space.

“My side will win, of course.” Crowley finally adds as he follows after his angel. 

“Of course. An army of shambling, near-shattered trash is going to win the yardwide fight.” Aziraphale mutters with sarcasm dripping thickly in his voice. “You’re telling me my side won’t pull out weapons of their own that won’t destroy all of you?” 

“Perhaps. I suspect they’ll put up a valiant fight at the very least.”  
“But good always wins!” The angel protests, balling his hands.  
“Sure it might but there’s still the wrinkle to your argument.” Crowley starts as he pulls out a ratty towel that would be a bit small for humans but is just the right size as a blanket for them both. He lays it down on the grass and plops himself on top of it. Aziraphale keeps his painted eyes on Crowley while sitting right next to him, almost touching but not yet ready for such an intimacy; as hyperbolic as that sounds. 

They lay there for a moment to see the stars glimmer in the sky and the symphony of night creatures singing into the dark. Sometimes during the summer, some glow bugs would come to visit and Aziraphales little heart would beat furiously as he watched the demon hold one with the most precious look in his eyes. Or, when it rained, they would sit under the half rotten bench in the corner and watch the earthworms come out. It was moments like those why both of them enjoyed meeting up. No conflict to worry about, no yard to fuss over. Just each other, and that’s all either really needed. 

“What was it?” Aziraphale finally asks. Crowley jerks his attention back to the present.  
“The what?”  
“The wrinkle!” He presses more firmly. 

“Oh… Well…” The demon reached a hand up to take his sunglasses off and turns to the other. “The wrinkle is that. No matter which side wins, the yard is guaranteed to end up destroyed. No peonies, no koi pond, no flowers or birdfeeders, nothing. Neither of us will have a home left.” He sees Aziraphales mouth open to protest, then close. This fight has been planned for literal years, all that time of planning nothing but carnage for another born strictly out of hate wasn’t going to look pretty. 

“Do you think She would want that mess?”  
Azirphale, shook his head. In the quietest voice, he muttered. ‘perhaps not.’  
“Right. And in all honesty, no one knows what’s going on in that batty woman’s head but, if I owned a yard and garage full of sentient, angry little lawn decorations I wouldn’t be too pleased to wake up one morning to see my hard work absolutely trashed with shattered porcelain and destroyed plants!” He throws his hands out. “I mean, would you?”  
“N-No, but what if she planned this the whole time?” Aziraphale asks and saying it outloud almost makes him shudder.  
“Bollocks to that.” Crowley mutters darkly. “Let’s say we put off this conflict. Just for the time being.”  
“How could that be accomplished?” He cocked his head just a tad, captured by Crowleys scheming.  
“With a little lie.”  
“A… Lie…” 

“YES!” The demon jumps to his feet and the plastic bat wings flap excitedly as he proceeds to explain.  
“So the other day, I heard from Her on the phone inside the house that she now has a dear nephew with a pet dog and everything. What we do, is that we both report on a new relative coming to visit that will not only jumpstart the war but maybe even lend a hand on either side. Then, we both get time to ourselves pretending to gather more information about this person coming because of course they want more information on this mysterious new player. The kid may never come but it will without a doubt pacify both sides for another couple years.”

Finishing his plan, he stares back at Aziraphales blank expression for any reaction. Those pretty painted eyes blink and then swivel away to process it. Part of him wished they snuck away a bottle of something to drink while talking but perhaps he’ll do such a thing another time when things weren’t so dire. The fear that he had just made a fool of himself begins to niggle in the back of his ceramic head. Rattling in there with the dust and other little pebbles broken free when he first fell. He felt his face go red with the embarrassment growing louder and louder as the silence stretched on. Then finally:  
“So what you’re saying we do is lie about this child you heard about until… what? They don’t believe us anymore?” 

“Or until both sides get tired of this escalation.” Crowley says this as sees Aziraphales round face scrunch up more. “We can call ourselves the Godfathers Squad.” He adds out of desperation. 

The angels face lights up at that and that sweet smile Crowley is so fond of shows.  
“Godfathers… I do like the sound of that.” What went without saying was the two of them spending more time together as lookout for this kid that might not even exist to begin with. 

The angel had to admit; the idea was starting to grow on him.  
“Yeah!” Crowley gave a toothy grin of his own and held out his hand. “What do you say?”  
He gets up and shakes the others outstretched hand, feeling his cheeks go so flush he has to suppress a giggle. “I’m in.”


	2. good gnomens.... 2!

A cat crawled their way from one yard to the next with the fluid and grace of a malicious but sweet little shadow. Under the waning moonlight, she paused to set her dead bird down and admire the view of her latest kill. The dove laid still with its wings splayed out pitifully as she mused to herself. 

This was no ordinary dove, the cat knew as it was kept in a spacious cage in the Dowlings backyard porch. The pretty ginger kitty grinned as she recalled that this particular bird was the prize possession of Mrs. Dowling, despite her husbands distaste for feathered pets. In fact, last week he had made some rather cruel joke of letting it be free to live with “the other rats with wings.” Which had caused some awful fighting indeed. The resulting exchange was resolved with both sides going to dinner after they both came home from work and having a decent heart to heart, but there was no denying the tension still being taught like a violin string on Mrs. Dowlings heart as some nagging part of her didn’t believe in his apology. 

With the beloved pet now bloodied and dead in this cats grasp, the tabby relished what new discourse will come to the Dowling family when they wake. As she raised a hind leg to scratch her neck, her metal chain collar shook jovially with the name written as plain as the day it was inscribed at the local Petsmart store.

“Princess Vanilla Butters the Second” 

Or, what she called herself with great joy. 

War. 

As the moon was dipping low into the horizon. Crowley made his now lonely self back at the garage with some self confidence in his plan. He saunters in and the smell hits him first before the voice. It was a rancid scent of moldy old manure stuck in a hot, humid space for too long. 

“Just where in hell did you wander off to?” A figure clad in a dark outfit similar to his groused. The smell came from a cracked open crevice just on the back of their head. As a result of the manure stuffed there, flies lingered and followed wherever they went. 

“Went to do some recon, making sure the other side wasn’t getting ahead of us in anything.” He answers smoothly, walking past them. “How’s the dark council going? Any progress on how to decimate the enemy Beelzebub?” 

The low growl is enough of a reply. 

“Don’t worry your brick head Beez, I have something big cooked up for real. This is going to be as good as my usual plans. I’m famous here, remember?” 

Beelzebub rolled their painted eyes. “Your fame will only take you so far.” 

Walking into the garage often was an odd sensation. Like when you open the oven to check your garlic bread and the gust of heat collides with your face. The inside was a strong combination of musty and, depending on the season, either frigidly cold or scorching hot. The yelling of its inhabitants echoed off the walls but had died down considerably as it was approaching bedtime for the many decorations and if there was anything more well beloved then the utter and total destruction of the yard, it was a good days rest. 

As Crowley steps to the center of a ratty old doormat, Beelzebub scurries to the other side to sit among the other princes of the yard. Seeing as no one was going quiet as they should, Dagon pulls out a coach whistle and blows loudly enough to silence the room. Dozens of dark, glittering eyes stare back. They give Crowley a nod reassuring him that he has the floor.

“Morning everyone.” Comes out rather meekly then he’d like, but keeps going. “I’ve been mulling over lately the oddest thing I heard the other day. You see, I was spying on those clods outside during the daytime when I heard Her pacing about the kitchen, calling some family on the phone and she mentioned the most interesting thing."

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“A nephew and his dog are coming to visit. Soon” 

Immediately after, murmuring breaks out as the idea seems to strike them as well. 

“Who’s the Nephew?” Beelzebub asks over the talking and the demons settle. 

“She mentioned an Adam. I didn’t catch the last name, nor what he looked like, but his arrival would make a lovely jump-start for the End to those ceramic ninnies. We just need to be patient and keep ever vigilant for the visit.”

“Which would be…” Beelzebub replies tersely, all eyes on them in the dark room. 

“Don’t know. The Almighty isn’t exactly fond of bringing her family over, are they? Besides, we can’t risk those others influencing him to chuck us away now would we.”

More murmuring. The room held an energy that was warming up to the idea but was still skeptical at the lack of clarity. 

“No worries though, I will simply volunteer as sole investigator on the matter to ensure that our new little monarch will come and aid us in winning this fight since I’m the only one comfortable to venture outside this space.”

The decorations start talking excitedly and the princes look amongst eachother. Dagon raises her hand and the talking dies down one final time. 

“We hear your dastardly plan loud and clear, but-” they stop as Beelzebub gets up to murmur in her ear. 

“-It would be stupid not to consider this rare opportunity. We hereby assign you the role of bringing this plan to fruition, at whatever the cost.”

Crowley gives a wide, toothy grin at the statement until. 

“-but you must update the dukes Hastur and Ligur on every development. We don’t want you to run off, after all. Results are crucial.” 

There’s a terse nod and he holds back from frowning. His thin pupils scan the audience for the two and he sees the pale white form of Hastur and his companion Ligur right next to him. They look pleased as punch for obvious reasons Crowley was dreading but the silver lining to this is that rarely anything was ever decided this quickly. 

“I accept terms the wholeheartedly.” He states, pushing his ceramic chest out to exude more confidence. 

“Then its decided.” They mutter tiredly. “Therefore, this mornings meeting is adjourned until we rise once more.”

There’s a resounding positive, but incredibly tired response in return and the sound of shuffling as they all head to their respective crevices to tuck in for the day. Some of them decided long ago that sleeping alone is far superior than in the occasional cluster of other sad demons. Curling oneself up under cabinets and beside old boxes had its benefits in privacy and even protection but there was always a twinge in one’s own heart when waking up cold and alone. As sleep overtakes each restless soul, Crowley feels his own lids droop and a yawn itching the back of his throat. He finds his usual space by the window and looks outside, thinking of someone he would prefer nestling up with for the day. 

Across the yard, an angel shaped little decoration gives a long stretch and pulls another book out to enjoy. He stared at the page but his mind couldn’t bring himself to focus enough for reading as worry at this plan. First, there was the proposing part, which required them to respect him enough to give a listen. Then there was the convincing part. They wouldn’t believe his story about Her having a nephew with a dog, much less one that actually help toss out the other side. Setting the book down with a huff, he rubs his own face and whines. He wished he was at least half as smooth as Crowley.   
Lost in his own thoughts, the little painted cherub didn’t notice the fence door swing open and a child with a spray can stalk in slowly, as if he knew the owner of this wonderful home and wonderful yard wasn’t here. He was the ambassadors son after all, getting in trouble would mean far worse for him, especially for what he’s about to do. Dark bitter thoughts and a mood so foul it would drive away Beelzebubs flies clouded his mind. Aziraphale barely has time to glance up and register the trespasser and his dog before he notices a bigger shadow enveloping him. He hardly has a moment to shout before a drooling mouth full of white teeth envelope his midsection and then hes lifted up like he weighs nothing. 

His mind races and hes about to start flailing himself free until he sees the child shout something. He keeps frozen in the pose he was first made in but sweats frantically as the dog shakes its head and races about the yard playfully. 

Warlock takes in the seemingly perfect yard as he decides where to leave his mark. He was thinking about drawing a cheesy pentagram from a horror movie he caught on tv with his crimson paint. His doberman runs to him on lanky, agile legs and trots about to initialize a classic game of fetch. Warlock wasn't sure why the old bat littered her yard with these... ornaments, but he grabs it from his dogs mouth to throw. "C'mon Baphomet, you can find something better then a shitty statue for fetch."   
The sleek black doberman dubbed Baphomet whines and haunches back in anticipation. Warlock readies his arm to throw it but pauses briefly, his gaze flicks to it. Is it....? No, it cant be trembling. Warlock tosses it into the bushes and his dog hightails after it.   
Fortunately for Aziraphale, the bush he was tossed into was no ordinary shrub. 

The poor dog yelps and cries as it clumsily runs head first into the rosebush and pulls away, dragging more tendrils away with it. Half blinded from its pain, it charges into the park bench and then knocks over the birdbath. The chaos stirs more attention and the angels crane their heads to watch with worry creasing their faces. Aziraphale rights himself immediately and ducks further away into the bush and with shuddering breathes, watch the boy and his hellish hound. Warlock chases after Baphomet about the yard until he catches the scruff of its neck, holding it in place for him to remove the last of the small thorny branches. His dog whines as some blood dribbles from the scratches but it wasn't severely harmed, just startled and in mild pain. It ducks close to Warlock with sad eyes. 

"Sorry about that Baph, I didn't notice the thorns there. How about we leave just after I do my dirty deed?" 

Baphomet whines and presses their head against his leg. Anger seeps back in to replace Warlocks shame and he scowls at the fence. Hastily, he scribbles the pentagram he had planned, but adds something more to it that makes his eyes burn with tears. After adding the final details, he storms off with his dog clinging close to his heels. A silence fills the garden, the muteness after a storm.   
Little angels clad in outfits of all sorts slowly walk towards fence with its angry portrait still dripping with red paint like a ghastly wound. Mouths hang open in utter shock, eyes wide with fear at what this could ever mean and stone knees turn to jello. After collecting enough of himself, Aziraphale jogs towards the small crowd of angels gathering and he too gawks at the image. 

In the center of a gristly pentagram with all the ominous symbols adorning the corners. In the center of it all was a dead bird with its wings ripped and blood trailing from its beak. 

"Well, that's just unpleasant." A angel cooly remarks, kicking his foot in thought. Clapping his hands together, he turns to face them all until his purple eyes catch Aziraphales.   
"You! You were the one that got nabbed by that mutt." He exclaims with an incredulous expression. He shrinks in on himself. 

"Yes.... That was me." He says nervously. "I didn't even see it coming." 

Yeah, that must've been suuuuper terrifying." The angel clad in a alabaster suit with charcoal back hair cocked his head to the side as if imagining what it must've felt like but he just shrugs, already bored with such a thought. "Anyways. Do we have any information about the little punk that did this? He's gotta be a part of the others side scheming, right?" 

"I think so," Another speaks up. This angel wore a beige suit and grinned with golden painted teeth. As pure and cherub-like he looked there wasn't a doubt in anyones mind that he looked like some scummy, used car salesmen. "Who else would've been responsible for this horrible thing?" 

"I know." Aziraphale finally says and cringes as all eyes meet his again. The purple-eyed angels wings twitched. "The child that came was someone She had mentioned the other day while i was inside her home, rooting around for more books of hers to read." 

More staring. 

"He's a nephew of hers. A harbinger to our end, if we don't do something about it. I've been wanting to investigate him further and ensure a way that makes him never come back but ah," Aziraphale adds sheepishly.

"Not your department, right." The pristine figure finishes. Aziraphale nods. The angel raises a hand to his chin and turns back to the wretched example of vandalism on what was once a clean fence. He moves closer to it to touch the still wet paint and scowls at the tips of his fingers. Another different angel with a shaved head and golden flecks gracing her brown painted cheekbones presses close to discreetly talk with him. The other angels start muttering to one another and making him more anxious about his lie until- 

"That's settled then!" The archangel states loudly, which silences the crowd effectively. 

"You, Guardian of the Eastern Ferns, will be promoted to the duty of preventing this child from ever lending a hand to The Broken." They give this sharp, white grin that feels less sincere the longer it held. "As long as you give us notes on the regular about your progress of course, you'll be free to investigate wherever, whenever." From the way he was saying this made it sound like Aziraphale had just won the lottery, which, perhaps he just did in a sense, but he could only feel himself burn with more shame as his lie actually worked.

Aziraphale hardly gives a nod of approval before the angel claps a hand on his shoulder and barks "so it's settled then! I look forward to hearing your results in about a week or so."   
The angels, now relaxed at the resolution to this horrible crime was settled upon, they all scatter back to their own corners of the garden to lie still in, leaving Aziraphale alone. He immediately dreaded the situation he had just lied his way into and internally cursed Crowley for making him do this. But still, he wondered about the child that left the blemish on their wall. 

He stares, then finally murmurs numbly for no one to hear. "Of course Gabriel, I wont let you down."


End file.
